Lost Princess, Forotten Emotions
by Triono
Summary: AU)What if Van was different.What if he was spoken about in the prophicies?Van is out to save the Gaea from the Zaibach Empire.Can he do it by himself?What about Marea,the runaway princess?What is spoken about her in the Prophicies?Continued from Pen01's
1. Chapter One: Duties of a Prince

Lost Princess, Forgotten Emotions  
  
Chapter Five: The Prince Sets Off  
  
Written by: Adam Gabrieau  
  
Authors Notes: Welcome to the continuation of "Lost Princess, Forgotten Emotions", the aptly named "Lost Princess, Forgotten Emotions. I will be dedicating this to the pen01, seeing how she came up with the idea (though I may slightly twist it). Please be kind and review.  
  
  
  
The sun was setting below the rolling, dark green, hills, tingeing the clouds pink and gold, and making it appear that the sky was burning up in an almighty fire that consumed the very sky. The fields and hills that surrounded the large, elegant city rustled slightly as a breeze passed by them.  
  
Outside of the castle grounds Van could hear more then see people gathering around the gates of the castle, waiting for the ceremony to commence. Even further beyond that, he could hear the constant trickle of the river that made its way through his meditation chamber. Even from where he was, Van could smell the thick, floral smell of the meadows that surrounded the castle and city walls.  
  
Peace was beginning to mount over his body as he studied his thoughts. He had been sitting in the rather large room for what seemed like weeks, though it was only one day. His eyes were shut, and his breathing was slow and shallow. He was stripped of all his clothes except for a red robe, and he had on ceremonial jewelry; a pair of red crystal earrings that dangled from a fine, platinum thread. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, ranging from ridiculous to meaningful; from bizarre to logical; and from wonderment to fear.  
  
But there was one constant mainstream thought that dominated the others.  
  
What happened to Marea?  
  
Balgus had told him that she was nowhere to be seen, and that it was most likely that she been had returned to Palestonia, but that all communication had been cut off to the country, from some unknown reason.  
  
His thoughts returned once more to the task that was assigned to him; his inauguration to the throne of Fanelia.  
  
A Dragon, it just had to be a Dragon. He thought in a mix of anger and fear. How am I supposed to find a Dragon, let alone slay one? It's impossible, damn it!  
  
He regained his posture, once more calming himself down. It seemed that the task he had been asked, no, demanded to do was impossible, and would more then likely end up with him being killed. But he would try it, and give it his all, none-the-less; it was his duty as Prince to do what would serve his people, his country, best. It did not matter if he was to kill a Dragon or capture a rabbit; it must be done. He just didn't like the idea of putting himself in peril for something so.. Trivial.  
  
Yes, that was the word he wanted to find, trivial. The entire procedure was pointless and ridiculous. But even through the dark clouds that were his doubts, he could see the ray of light that was logic. The ceremony and task weren't just because of some ancient scripts that said it had to be done. No, that was not the reason.  
  
The obvious reason was to appoint a strong and wise King, so that in battle he would not make foolish mistakes or prove himself to be weak and useless. Without a strong leader, other nations would see his weakness as his country's weak, and that would lead to full-scale war. And, there was one more reason.Escaflowne.  
  
It was written in the ancient texts that he was named the Chosen One, would be able to command the legendary guymelef Escaflowne, and would be able to wield the legendary power of Atlantis. However, it did not say how they would know who the Chosen One was, pr when he would make himself known, just that he would be the King and would be able to use Escaflowne. Also, later on in The Book of Untold Shadows---a guide of future events and other prized information that was kept with the Fanelia Royal House---that the Chosen would be have a power, a magic, inside of them that was unlike any other seen before, and that they would use it to defeat an army with numbers 'like the leave in autumn'.  
  
Could I be the Chosen One? Van thought. Could it be me.?  
  
His thoughts were cut short as he heard a door slide open. In anger, he raised his head and looked over his shoulder and saw a maids-woman on her knees with her head bowed down as a sign of respect. "Lord Van, Master Balgus says it is time for the blessing.Are you ready?"  
  
With silent grace, Van rose to his feet, still keeping his back to her. He walked towards a fountain that sat in the middle of the room. "Yes, tell Balgus I'll be right out."  
  
He heard a shuffle behind him as the servant exited the room, still on her knees and with her head bowed. The door shut and he resumed in taking his robe off.  
  
The air was hot and humid, and full of thick, floral aromas. Sweat rolled down his back as he pulled on his black under shirt, and over that, a red shirt that showed his arms. He idly searched for his black pants as he sat down. As he quickly got dressed, and put on his black shoes. He thought it strange, that he was to wear only black when he was going out to slay a Dragon, seeing as how that red and black were the royal colors. Shouldn't he be wearing some kind of armor? Would armor even make a difference against a Dragon?  
  
As he walked by the door, he grabbed his sword and it's sheath, idly tying them to his waist-belt. He rather fancied the way his blade looked around his waste. As he walked down the hall, he looked down at his new clothing, admiring the perfect fit and fine details that he had not been able to see in the darkness of his meditation room.  
  
The tight, black shirt was made of a silky fabric that made a soft noise as he ran his hand down the Fanelia Royal Crest---a figure of a person with a dazzling white wings spread out, accompanied by small animals such as squirrels, voles and rabbits, symbolizing the country's beauty. A creature, too, accompanied these; a Dragon, symbolizing Fanelia's strength and ferocity---that was stitched on with an elegant gold thread. It was placed in the center of the shirt, where the people of the land believed that their mana, their soul, their magic, their very being, was. His pants were made of the same fabric, and were a bit baggy at the legs, but they still managed to give away the muscles in his legs.  
  
Van walked down corridors that were beginning to darken. Every once and a while he would walk past a guard or servant who was lighting the torches that were placed in ten foot intervals. The air was cooling down slightly, but it was still warm with the heat that had been left in the wake of the heavy warmth of a spring day. At last, he reached the doors that lead to the courtyard, where he was to go for the ceremonial feast, and then leave to go and slay a Dragon.  
  
When he opened the door, a slight breeze ruffled his dark hair, and he could see a mass of people standing off in the distance. The magnitude of people who had come to see him off astounded him; there had to be at least twenty-thousand people outside of the castle, standing in neat rows, and then to the right and left of them, the Fanelian Royal Guard. The total had to be at least, he mused, well above twenty-four thousand.  
  
He quickly walked through the main courtyard, noticing the large mass of tables that had been set up for the feast afterwards. There were rose bushes that were freshly planted by each entrance to the lawn, and he could smell fresh bread, fish and other foods that were prepared for the feast.  
  
As Van exited the main courtyard and entered the smaller courtyard, which was still big enough to fit a small city into, an expectant hush fell over the crowd. The band, which consisted of at least three hundred people and sat on a balcony off to the side, picked up the silence with the Fanelian national anthem. Van listened intently on the violins, focusing on what he was about to set out and do.  
  
He stopped at a platform, standing between two sections of the audience, which had parted as he made his way towards the platform. He dropped to a knee and bowed his head, as Balgus, his bodyguard, unsheathed the royal blade of Fanelia; the Sword of Spirits. With a flashy movement, he handed it to Van, handle first.  
  
Van raised his head slightly at first, as he saw the blade being offered to him. He had to accept it, to please the spirits of past kings, so he would have good fortune on his expedition. With his right hand, he accepted the blade, and then offered his praise to the good spirits. He rose to his feet, untied his sword from his side and handed it to Balgus, and then tied the sheath to right side, by his hip. He put his arm hand on the hilt of the sword, and was about to unsheathe it and see what it felt like, when Balgus covered his hand over Van's and leaned in towards him.  
  
"Not here, Lord Van. It is said that if you bring out the blade here, during this ceremony, you will bring death to your loved ones."  
  
Van really didn't believe in such superstitions, but kept his hand away from the blade none-the-less.  
  
The crowds cheered as Van faced them and held his hand over his heart as he gave a silent pledge to them, that he would do his best to slay a Dragon so he could become their King. As he looked out into the sea of people, he noticed that even peasants that he had seen before on the streets now stood in front of him in clothes that ambassadors could barely afford, and wearing jewelry that was fit for the most important of rulers. Was the ceremony so important? Did the Palace hand out gold to the peasants so that even they could be well dressed for this?  
  
Time seemed to whirl together as he stood there, looking at the people as he made his vows to his country, and then again as he faced Balgus to receive his instructions for what he was supposed to do. Balgus' words seemed sewn together as they flowed from his mouth in a soft whisper that seemed to fill the night air with his words. Van nodded absent-mindedly when Balgus finished. The crowd cheered and then followed as Van, Balgus, and other important people of the country walked into the main courtyard.  
  
The tables were already set with the finest plates and silverware, and each had a glowing candle burning brilliantly between each dish. The air was full of scents of aromas, and servants were constantly bringing new dishes to tables.  
  
In front of Van were several different kinds of breads, and on his plate there was a more-then-generous helping of veil. Off to his right he could see Balgus setting into his spice soup and to his left an advisor drinking from a large glass of wine. He could see more dishes then he could name.  
  
The night air was filled with laughter as people told stories, and off into the distance, he could hear crickets chirping merrily in fields, and closer by, just beyond the rose bushes, children playing. He took a sip of some wine that was in a glass that was in front of him, and discovered that it's sweet flavour was to his liking, so he took another swallow of it, and then another, and before he knew it, it was gone. He was going to order some more when something caught his eyes; an apple pie. He looked over to Balgus, who smiled and nodded, and then called the servant who had over.  
  
As he watched on, the sky got darker and darker, and stars could be seen. Behind him, he knew that the Mystic Moon and the smaller one framed the head table in shafts of white light, some glinting off his sword. Balgus leaned over to him and whispered. "Lord Van, I believe it is about time for you to leave."  
  
Van didn't want to leave; he wanted to stay and talk to the villagers. He wished he could talk to them and laugh with them. But he couldn't.  
  
He looked over to Balgus, and then around the yard, and then back to Balgus and gave him a small nod.  
  
Nobody noticed his as he slipped into the darkness behind the main table, and headed towards the castle. It took him no time to run to the castle. Once more, he went through the hallways, running by rooms and leaping past steps at a time. Before long, he came to his room, and found Merle, his cat-like companion, sitting at the foot of his bed. As he entered, she looked up and wiped away tears that stained her face. She stood up and hugged Van.  
  
"Oh, Van, please let me go with you. I won't get in the way.. Please?"  
  
Van looked down at her and smiled. She was his true friend.  
  
"No," he answered simply, as if it were obvious.  
  
Merle looked up at him and gave him another hug. "Your.Your.Your pack is on your bed." She sobbed.  
  
Van gave her a nod and walked out of the room. He didn't want to leave merle---it broke his heat to see her crying, and there was nothing he wanted more then to stay with her---but he would not risk her life for the tradition. And, as the Book of Untold Shadows declared, Van was supposed to go out on his own, with no more then what was needed, and alone.  
  
He walked down the halls once more, his footsteps mixing in with the weeping of Merle. Unlike last time, he walked towards one of the back entrances of the castle, so he could leave away from the city and towards the forests and mountains that dotted are and made up the landscape.  
  
As he walked down it, he idly looked at all of past Kings, the ones who had held the Sword of Spirits, the very sword he had in his scabbard. They were all big men, and had large muscles. He felt small as he walked down the hall, like a child surrounded by soldiers. Their eyes stared at him as he exited the castle.  
  
The air outside was definitely cooler then it had been before, but he could still hear people laughing.  
  
The grounds behind the castle were lightened up by the Mystic Moon. He slowly walked towards the wall of the castle, still listening to people celebrate. As he walked along the base of the wall, searching for a door, he saw sentries on the tops. They smiled at him and spoke their wishes for his well being and safe return. He thanked them. When he reached the door he was looking for, he found two massive guards, both standing rock-still with their arms crossed, each hand holding a massive blade. They, too, gave him a nod, and opened the massive wooden doors for him.  
  
He walked out of his home.  
  
The forest stood in front of him, leering at him with its size. The Mystic Moon had no affect on it, as the thick canopy of branches allowed no light to enter. Van stepped into the darkness..  
  
To finish what his brother could not. 


	2. Chapter Two: Lurking in the Shadows

Lost Princess, Forgotten Emotions  
  
Chapter Six: Lurking in the Shadows  
  
Written by: Adam Gabrieau  
  
  
  
  
  
Silence fell among the tall, ancient trees and the wind stilled in the boughs above. It was as if the entire forest was holding its breath, waiting for a sudden thunderclap, announcing the coming of a storm. Van knelt in a small moss patch beneath an old immense oak looking around the forest, watching his surroundings with great interest, and intently listening for something, anything. He felt angry eyes on him, but from no direction---it came from all around. It was an angry glare that made the sweat on his back go chill. This way and that the young prince's eyes darted. He stood like stone, willing every nerve in his body to remain motionless.  
  
With a bit of anger, he took a glance to his shoulder, and looked at the scratch he had received from whatever had attacked him. He had been lucky, though; he had some kind of a forewarning, even though the creature, whatever it was, stalked up behind him without alerting Van. It had felt strange to Van when it happened. In the back of his mind, he saw a black shadow behind him, and then it felt as if the sword he had still in his sheath called him to strike, to attack, to kill, even when he couldn't see anything around him; that too was unnerving, as the forest was usually teeming with life. But as it was, Van had turned at the right moment, and was just barely able to raise his sword up for a defense.  
  
Whatever it was that attacked him had sharp claws---nearly six inches long-- -that raked across Van's shoulder as it leapt over his head and into the dark woods.  
  
I/What the Hell was that thing? Van thought angrily. I've never seen anything like that before!I/  
  
Van had spent a lot of time in the forest, and even his earliest memories are of him playing soldier with Balgus. Every tree, every plant and every trail seemed familiar to him, but the thing that had attacked him was as familiar to him as fire would be to a fish.  
  
Then he could hear it, a heavy breathing, almost a pant, coming from behind him. He turned around in an instant, but found nothing. A twig snapped to his left, but by the time he had turned his body in the direction, nothing could be seen. He heard footsteps all around him. They were moving slowly around him in a circle, and by the crunching sounds of many twigs being stepped on at a time, he could tell there was close to half a dozen creatures around him.  
  
It was by pure chance that a fanning in the leaves let for a ray of sunlight, which glinted off of a knife. It barely registered in his mind in time, but Van quickly did the only thing he could do with a only a fraction of a second to react in.He ducked. He heard the sound of wood shattering, and as he looked up, he saw something that made his blood go cold.  
  
The massive tree trunk, which was four times thicker then most, shattered in a shower of bark and wood bits, as the rest of the tree fell downwards, landing with a large crack as ancient branches snapped on the impact. Van shuddered at what he saw in the dim light of the forest.  
  
There were five Scrins advancing towards him in a semi-circle.  
  
A Scrin was said to be the guardian of the underworld, and was rarely seen by anyone. They were known be more powerful then armies, and could take down even the most skilled and powerful guymelefs. Van couldn't see much of them, only their glowing red eyes, but he knew that was what they were. Nobody had ever actually seen what a Scrin looked like and lived long to tell people about it. In the past, there were people who had been attacked and were able to tell others what they looked like; but they never said the same things; they had always said they seemed to materialize from out of thin air, and that when they saw them, there bodies were like that of a mans, but it seemed to blend in with the surroundings.  
  
Van didn't have too much time to mull over the thoughts however, as the one in the center of the formation leapt at him. Van took a stride to his right as the Scrin's hands tore up the ground. In a movement as quick as lightning, another Scrin from the far right leapt at Van, who ducked, and caught the tip of the needle-sharp claws on his shoulder. The two Scrins collided against each other, but Van had no time take his blade out, as another two jumped at him.  
  
The larger of the two reached him first, and hit him full-force with its body, knocking Van back a couple meters into a tree. The air was filled with a sick Ithunk/I as Vans head bounced off of the bark. He slid down the base of the trunk, blood dribbling from his mouth.  
  
The Scrin who had hit him charged at him once more, hitting him square in the chest and driving him backwards through the tree he was sitting against. Van stumbled backwards as the Scrin hit him in his leg. Van went down to his knees, and then was clobbered down with the beasts' fist, causing him to fall on his face. The Scrin grabbed the back of Vans head and began to drag his face along the forest floor. And then, in a display of strength, it lifted Van up, deathlike grip still on his head, and began to swing him slowly.  
  
Van's eyes snapped open at the same the Scrin was about to throw him, and doing the only thing he could think of, grabbed his knife out of its holster on his hip, and slashed at the Scrin's neck. He fell down in a heap as the Scrin dropped him, grabbed its throat, and began to make pig- like wails that sent shivers up Vans spine.  
  
There was nothing in the Gaea that Van wanted to do more then to just lie there, but he couldn't, and he had things to do. With a painful groan, he slowly rose to his feet and drew his sword. A metallic ringing was sent through the air as he unsheathed his blade and took in long, painful gasps of air; his chest was sore from where he had been hit by the Scrin. And then something frightening happened to him.  
  
A rage flowed into him, seemingly coming from the sword. The rage felt, almost, magic, to Van, as it flooded into his right hand, and made its way into the rest of his body. It almost felt warm to him, and it caused him to breathe harder. The pain of his injuries seemed to become distant as the anger began to bubble and froth inside the pit of his stomach, begging to be released. Before long, the pain had completely disappeared, and was replaced by the all-consuming hatred that seemingly coursed through his veins. Van had no idea what had happened, and a part of his mind called out to him, called for him to stop what he was doing, to drop the blade. His body ignored that part of his mind, and instead listened to the other half of his mind, which seemed to be screaming chaotically for him to strike, tear, kill.  
  
Vans breathing became ragged gasps of anger as he slowly made his way to the glade he had first been in, his sword dragging at his side. There seemed to be a thousand different voices inside of his mind at once, all telling him to kill, to attack and to fight. He obliged the second he stepped into the light of the glade.  
  
His senses went off, like they were telling him of a great danger that was to his right. Van's ears pricked as he heard a quiet breathing, and then a twig snap. It was enough for him to react. With quick side-jump, he slashed at the Scrin that had been lurking in the shadows of trees, disembowelling it with a quick slash to the ribs. He stood and watched as it fell to it's knees, making the same wailing sound the other did when he slashed its throat. The Scrin futilely tried to gather it's entrails, and then in a mad panic, attacked Van once more. Without thinking, he slapped the creature in the side of its head with the flat of his blade, causing it to wail further.  
  
The other portion of Van's mind spoke up, above the cacophony of the other voices, screaming above the rest, and told him to end it and be honourable. His body finally listened as Van managed to take control of his body once again. He raised the sword at his chest level, put his hand out to his side so that it and his word were parallel to the ground, and then he swung his arm and body around; the head of the Scrin rolled to the ground.  
  
Van's eyes opened wide with pain as he was flung backwards into the headless form of a Scrin. The other two Scrins leapt over him, the one who had knocked Van down landing on his chest, but catching a knife in the chest as it did so. The other landed on the first, causing the knife to fully embed itself in its in the its chest, and allowing more blood to soak Vans chest. Van tried to kick the two off of them, but the weight was crushing him, and the first one writhed on top of him, flailing its arms about causing him to sink in the soft ground.  
  
The second one leapt off and landed near Vans head. It picked the struggling Scrin off with a single hand, showing Van its terrifying strength, and revealing its mammoth size; it was twice Vans height, if not more. Its body was no more then a black rippling mass of muscles. With as little effort as an adult throwing a stone, it threw the squirming carcass at a tree, causing the body to stop squirming and three to snap. He looked back at Van with newfound interest. Van expected the same fate as the other Scrin had received, but instead, something else happened.  
  
The anger poured into him once more, consuming his soul and taking over his mind. An unknown force seemingly accompanied the anger, intermingling with it, and sending a strange feeling down Van's back; it felt almost like an electric current, like true power. Almost.  
  
The unknown force shot to right hand, gathering in the hilt of his sword until a white mist surrounded it. The white mist moved like it had a mind of it's own, but it still stayed around the hilt of the sword, circling it and travelling through it. It felt like his apart of his mind was acting without his consent, and was directing all of the energy and energy he felt in the sword; the mist rose with along with them.  
  
It seemed to all come from within him, from the centre of his naval, and was just being focused on the sword, not the other way around; the mist, the energy, the anger was not from the sword, but it was from within him, like it was his very soul. He wasn't too sure about what it was, but he was damn sure it was from him.  
  
I/Great Spirits,I/ he thought desperately, I/Please help me.I/  
  
The sword was completely trapped in a thick shield of mist. And then, for the first time since he took the sword out, his mind and body acted as one, like his brain somehow held an unknown instinct, and was now ready to use it.  
  
There was bright flash of lightening that came from the sword's tip, and it filled the very air, sending shockwaves through the entire forest, and causing a monumental fissure to runt through the ground, trees, and even boulders. The one thing it did not hit, however, was the Scrin, as it was in the air above him unharmed, and glaring at Van through it's glowing red eyes. Again, Van knew what was going to happen, and instead of focusing the strange energy in the sword again, he brought it up, putting both hands on the hilt, and deflected the strange red blast that had emanated from the Scrin's eyes.  
  
The next happening seemed to take only seconds. The Scrin landed on the ground, only meters from Van, and causing it to sink in slightly under its tremendous girth. The instinct flashed in his mind, telling what to do without speaking.  
  
He leapt into the air, going well above the Scrin and reaching higher heights then he had ever before. He came down with untold ferocity and speed, bringing the sword down with him, and cutting the Scrin in half, from the head to crotch. Blood and gore exploded in a mist, spraying over Van and the surrounding forest.  
  
When he landed, he heard clapping, minute, mocking laughter, which was followed by a small chuckle.  
  
"Very well, your highness, very well," the voice didn't seem familiar, so he knew it wasn't anyone he knew.  
  
A figure walked out of the out of the darkness, but somehow a shadow managed to stay on the side of his face, not allowing Van to get a good look at him. He wore strange clothes, too, as they were made of a black rubber-like material, which expanded at his shoulders, and creating an overlarge shoulder pads in which his scrawny---yet muscular---arms protruded from. The outfit looked almost like a tunic, except that instead of pants or tights underneath the skirt part more and more skirts fell down from it, covering his feet and boots. And then something caught his attention. Over his heart, there was a red fist, holding a silver knife; the Zaibach national emblem.  
  
Van dropped into his fighting stance, holding the sword out straight behind him, tightening his grip on the hilt and putting a battle face on. "What do you want?" he spat out.  
  
"Simply to talk," he said, fanning his right hand slowly along the air. But Van saw his other hand move slightly under the cloak that he wore, positioning it so that he could grab his sword at any moment.  
  
"Yeah right," Van once again spat out. The first thing he had been taught was not to listen to anyone from the Zaibach Empire, as they would most likely slit his throat for being royalty. His brother did not listen.  
  
"Honest," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "I want to make you an offer you can't refuse."  
  
Van just tightened his grip on his sword and put more effort into his scowl. He would not betray his country, like his brother had, just to save his life. He would go down fighting, if need be.  
  
"Join us," he said simply, as if that would solve the matter. "We can be your new family. You and your brother could laugh, like old times."  
  
That did it, the rage irrupted in him.  
  
There was a swelling, a visible and tangible swelling began to manifest itself, seemingly coming from all around Van, and being centred on his sword.  
  
"Ah, yes," the man in the shadows said coolly, "Magic. You are progressing well. Even your brother has not been able to command it.yet."  
  
Inside of his mind, Van's jaw dropped, but he continued to focus on his hatred, barely noticing the happenings around him.  
  
I/Dear Spirits, what the Hell does he mean by magic. Is this magic? God damn it!!I/  
  
The rage finally erupted in something that resembled a volcanic explosion. The energy, or magic, travelled from Van's sword and into his chest. He slowly lifted off of the ground, as the mist began to manifest itself once again round him. There was a flash, a brilliant light blue flash, and the magic consumed all, encasing Van and the other man in it.  
  
Van screamed in shock and anger, while the other man screamed in pain. Van chanced a glance, and, barely, he could see the other man clawing at his face, as if he was blinded. But then something else happened, as the air around him cracked with lighting. He mans face began to melt, like he was being consumed by the fires of Hell.  
  
And then darkness consumed all.  
  
Sleep was a dreamless death. 


End file.
